


peanut butter sandwiches and peonies

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Because I know some people are squicked out by this pairing, Dark Clarice Starling, Dark Will Graham, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Food is (sometimes) people, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Softie, Hannibal Lecter loves Clarice Starling, Happy Murder Family, M/M, Married Life, Multi, Why have just Hannigram or Clannibal when you can have both?, Will Graham and Clarice Starling love Hannibal Lecter and each other, Will and Clarice are the definition of chaotic good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Clarice takes another bite of her wonder bread peanut butter sandwich and sticks her head out of the window of the Volkswagen Bug, whooping wildly. Will Graham grins at her from the driver’s seat. She turns up their two hundred  greatest pop hit of the 90’s playlist as they drive off, leaving the last chords of Mariah Carey’s “one good day” hanging in the air.Or: Will and Clarice take a road trip.





	peanut butter sandwiches and peonies

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal looking on disapprovingly on as Will/Clarice indulge in the worst food choices has always been one of my favorite tropes :,)

Clarice takes another bite of her wonder bread peanut butter sandwich and sticks her head out of the window of the Volkswagen Bug, whooping wildly. Will Graham grins at her from the driver’s seat. She turns up their two hundred  greatest pop hit of the 90’s playlist as they drive off, leaving the last chords of Mariah Carey’s “ _one good day”_ hanging in the air. 

 

 

Clarice always laughs when she reads the trashy tabloid articles that detail Hannibal Lecter’s skill at luring former FBI personnel to the dark side. She thinks the power of Will Graham’s sparkling steel blue eyes are criminally underreported in the media. It’s a common assumption, that Hannibal’s the one who binds them all together. The truth is as complicated as the maze of strings that connect the three, so much overlap that even the fates couldn’t untangle if they ever got the mind to try and cut them apart. 

 

 

This life together is a fever dream she never wants to wake up from. Hannibal calls Will mylisamis, Clarice meilé. They’re both hybristiphilac when he gets pissy. Will calls her their angel even though she’s proven herself to be just as ruthless as they are. He calls Hannibal dear. Clarice had never been one for pet names until she’d met her husbands. They still fawn over her every time she calls them darling, in the sweet southern twang she’d long given up on hiding. 

 

 

Their latest home is in a housing development an hour outside of New York City. It’s big enough for Will’s ever expanding pack of dogs and far enough  away from the neighbors so they have privacy for their more _eccentric_ activities. Clarice has only enabled Will’s dog collecting habit since moving in, much to Hannibal’s amusement. He tells her as they lay awake together one night, Will snoring on his chest, that he never imagined a future where he would spend  middle age surrounded by morally gray brunettes and enough animals to fill a small farm, but that he is insurmountably glad that is now his reality. 

 

 

When it’s his turn to organize date nights Hannibal takes them to operas and new  art galleries in the city. It’s always interesting for Clarice to watch the latest group of socialites he’s wormed himself into make their own conclusions about the trio. They stroll inside arms linked. Hannibal always walks in the middle, a spouse on each side. They really _shouldn’t_ make a habit of calling attention to theirselves. But he loves to show them off and for once Clarice doesn’t mind being arm candy. They make a game of kissing him during the opera,  right at the climax of the show when Hannibal’s eyes go all misty and he’s completely immersed in the swell of music and gorgeous voices. Even if he feigns annoyance for being taken out of the moment Will and Clarice know he relishes it.

 

 

Lazy evenings are spent on the living rooms velvet couch, eating homemade popcorn and watching these pretentious French movies Hannibal loves. Afterwards  they debate  on the value of obscure moral philosophies while curled up in each other’s arms. Will and Clarice have the best time when they  gang up on  Hannibal to win. It’s not a hard task, seeing as they’re the only people in the world who can get inside his head. He’s justly proud of their wit. 

 

 

Sometimes she sings for them, the love songs of her childhood in West Virginia, as Hannibal accompanies her on  the piano. Will whittles Hannibal stag trinkets and leaves them around the house to be discovered, the imagery a staple of an era before Clarice had come into their lives. Hannibal surprises Clarice  with peony bouquets and buys Will chilled pomegranate seeds, whispering elaborate stories of Persephone’s temptations as he feeds them to him. Hannibal teaches her how to speak Lithuanian and Will helps her read French. 

 

 

They take turns sleeping in the middle of the bed, a pile of dogs curled at their feet. Clarice likes it best when she’s in between, enveloped  by the men who love her, the men she loves. When she sleeps on the side she wraps one arm around the waist of whoever’s in the middle and intertwines her fingers with the man on the far end. None of them enjoy being separated, even in sleep.

 

 

Hannibal drives twenty miles out of his way to find high end grocery stores worthy of a middle aged wine mom. Of course he wouldn’t be caught dead inside the Walmart that’s only two minutes from their house. He returns with quinoa, the latest trends in health food, and expensive European cheese. He makes feasts for dinner, slaving away for hours to prepare his latest masterpiece. Will and Clarice lavish him with praise. He brings them breakfast in bed, French toast or onion and mushroom omelettes with freshly squeezed apricot juice. She often finds him in the garden in the afternoons, picking herbs for their lunch. Clarice likes to walk through the rows with her bare feet in the topsoil smelling the wealth of spices. 

 

 

She watches him as he gardens, sitting on the porch swing among the pillows with a book Will bought her and a glass of lemon la croix. There’s no soda in the house. Sometimes she misses soda,  chipped coffee cups, trashy pop music and all the other common middle america experiences Hannibal has no use for. He’s unreasonably critical about her choice in food, which she often reminds him is quite bold for someone who  cooks with human organs. Luckily she has Will who  understands that sometimes a girl just wants to eat her slim jims in peace.

 

 

She’d come downstairs this morning to find Hannibal fully dressed and bustling around a busy kitchen to the sound of classical music. That in itself was not unusual, but the chocolate chips he was sprinkling into the waffle batter were a cause for alarm. Hannibal always made  Clarice chocolate chip Belgian Waffles when he was buttering her up for something.  It was one of the first breakfasts he’d cooked for her and he knows that’s made them her favorite. Being Hannibal he takes full advantage of  that fact.

 

 

“Morning darling.” She mumbled as she kissed him, still a little drowsy.

 

 

“Would you get the maple syrup from the fridge meilé?” He’d asked her. “These will be done soon.” She fetched the syrup and sat at the bar staring at him expectantly until he was forced to say something. “Is something the matter Clarice?” He frowned feigning innocence.

 

 

”Depends.” She shrugged. “On what exactly you _did_ this time. 

 

 

“Can’t a man just make a nice breakfast for his wife?” He huffed. “There doesn’t always have to be an ulterior motive!”  Clarice raised an eyebrow and he caved. “Not that this is in anyway related to  your  breakfast but I _have_ been meaning to tell you that I’ve purchased tickets for a week long wine tasting tour.”

 

 

“Not my ideal way of spending a week  but that...actually wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.” She smiled. 

 

 

“With the Brandenburgs.” Hannibal finished apologetically.  Clarice groaned. It seems she spoke too soon.

 

 

The Brandenburgs are a married couple around Will’s age.  Hannibal had met them while guest lecturing at Columbia. He thinks they’re  nice enough, bland and inoffensive with just the right blend of intellectual and oblivious to make spending time in their company safe. Both Brad and Addy Brandenburg are trust fund babies that haven’t worked a day in their lives. As a proud former dirt poor country girl Clarice goes more stir crazy every moment she wastes listening to their well meaning [but horribly misguided] ideas about how the lower class can better themselves. Hannibal knows her opinion, it seems this is a rare occasion he’s disregarded it.

 

 

” _Hannibal_.” She had begun.

 

 

”Oh meilé it’s going to be wonderful! I’ve already bought you a new sundress.”

 

 

”You knew I wouldn’t agree!” She accused. “So you just went ahead and bought tickets anyways!”

 

 

“It is easier to ask for forgiveness than to get permission.” Hannibal reminded her as he slid a stack of waffles unto a white china plate, finishing off the presentation with a dollop of butter and a dusting of powdered sugar.

 

 

“Ask? Honey you’re going to be _begging_ on your hands and knees” Clarice told him only half teasing.

 

 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” He smirked.

 

 

She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “I’ll go get Will.” 

 

 

She found her other husband in his work shed with only his legs sticking out from underneath the underside of a car. She pulled at his creeper and he slid out, sweaty and smiling and somehow  just as gorgeous as always. 

 

 

“Breakfasts up.” 

 

 

“What’re we having?” Clarice pulled him to his feet and rubbed off a stubborn spot of grease from his cheek.

 

 

”Belgian waffles. With _chocolate_ _chips_.” 

 

 

“Fuck. What are we in for?” He laughed. 

 

 

“One  _glorious_ weekof nonstop wine tasting with the Brandenburgs.” 

 

 

Will whistled. “Did you kick his ass yet?” 

 

 

“I thought you’d want to help me out.” She grabbed his hand and they walked inside. “Time for a trip I think.”

 

 

“Hello Will.” Hannibal beamed as they  came into the kitchen. “We’re having Belgian waffles!” Clarice sat down at the table where the aforementioned waffles had been set up next to a sizable fruit spread. Will made a beeline for the leftover batter. 

 

 

“Clarice told me.” He said as Hannibal came up behind him to plant a gentle kiss on  the side of his neck. 

 

 

“Are you two conspiring against me already?” Hannibal teased as he went to sit beside Clarice. Will stayed by the batter, stirring it gently.

 

 

“Mylisamis. Don’t you _dare_.” Hannibal warned as Will lifts the spoon to his lips. He winked at them and they watched, aghast as he licked it clean. Hannibal gasped. “I used raw eggs in that!

 

 

“You’re going to give yourself salmonella _dipshit_.” Clarice joined in. 

 

 

“What is life if you don’t take a few risks?” Will shrugged. “You two should know that better than anyone.” He sat at the head of the table and they ate, gripes momentarily forgotten in the heaven that  is Hannibal Lecter’s cooking. 

 

 

“We have plane tickets to California next week. The vineyards there are some of the best in North America.” Hannibal said once he finished his waffle. 

 

 

“Good. There’s time for Clarice and I to go on a drive then?” Will asks midway through a mouthful of his third. 

 

 

“If you find that necessary, yes” Hannibal answered reaching out for Clarice. She took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

 

 

“We have to blow off some steam before a week of polite conversation with the Brandenburgs. You were expecting that right?” Clarice asks gently.

 

 

“Of course my loves. But I will miss you.”  

 

 

“We know.” Clarice kissed his forehead marveling at how domestic they’ve all become. “We’ll be back before you can blink.”  

 

 

Later she leaned over the center console to honk the horn at Will who’d been standing on their porch giving one last embrace to his favorite border collie while their husband stood tapping his foot and waiting for his own. Finally he’d finished his overdramatic goodbyes. Hannibal had walked him to the car offering a tray of cherry pastries he had baked them for the ride. Will and Clarice had other plans for car snacks.

 

 

Will calls these trips their debutante detoxes. Whenever Hannibal’s antics get to be too much the pair climbs into the vintage bug Will’s refurbishing and drive aimlessly until they find somewhere worth stopping. Worth stopping meaning crappy and normal and as distanced from Hannibal’s brand as possible.

 

 

When the tradition had started Hannibal himself had insisted on coming along. Clarice had sat on his lap in the passengers seat and Will had driven. They toured Taco Bell’s and five dollar all you can eat buffets and spent a considerable amount of time in the stationary aisle at Walgreens. Clarice had finally put a stop to Hannibal’s involvement after a disastrous trip to a public swimming pool. Hannibal had spent the entire time sitting in his nautical swim trunks next to a splash pad filled with screaming toddlers. He’d gotten an awful sunburn as he sat there, looking out of place and completely miserable. 

 

 

That night they had taken Hannibal home and fussed over him with aloe vera and ice baths. It wasn’t often that the trio separated into pairs. Later as they lay together in bed it was  collectively decided that the road trips would be as sacred to Will and Clarice as the visits to the Norman Chapel in Palermo were to Hannibal and Will.

 

 

Clarice is not entirely sure what Hannibal does when they’re gone, other than meal prepping and waiting by the door for them to come home. Will makes her snort laugh with his imagined scenario  of Hannibal composing angsty heartbreak songs on the theremin. Anyways, hes’s perfectly happy to let them take a breather. They’re far past the point of running. Will and Clarice have never found it in themselves to  stay away for more than one night. Does this make them unhealthy codependent? Hell yes. But none of them mind. 

 

 

This time the pair had gotten on the road by ten with nothing but  a bagful  of cash, the clothes on their backs, and Clarice’s Polaroid camera. The first stop had been Walmart for sandwich ingredients, a bigass bottle of coke, and a plethora of other snack food they had grabbed at random off the shelves while giggling like middle schoolers. The clerk had stared at them like they were crazy while Clarice had held up the checkout line to snap a Polaroid of Will flashing a thumbs up while holding a pre packaged bologna. 

 

 

And now here they are, three hours from home on some desolate country road screaming pop songs at the top of their lungs. She hasn’t seen another car for miles. Clarice is content to continue their karaoke. Then she sees _it_. The animal is majestic, brown speckled with white and hulking sticking out of the rest of its herd like a sore thumb. It’s without a doubt the fattest cow Clarice has seen in her entire life. She has to get closer to it. _Immediately_. 

 

 

”Will!” She yells startling her husband midway through a Faith Hill chorus. “Pull the _fuck_ over!” 

 

 

He indulges her and they park the car in a ditch before  running  to the fence that’s separating Clarice and the cow. She stares balefully at the couple as she chews a wad of grass. 

 

 

“She’s massive.” Will whispers as the beast trudges closer. 

 

 

“She’s _beautiful_.” 

 

 

They end up  leaning up against the side of the bug passing the bottle of coke back and forth between them and finishing off the last of the bologna for a good twenty minutes while they watch the cow go about her day.

 

 

”Darling” She whispers when they’re down to the dregs. “I need to touch it.”

 

 

”I figured you’d say that.” He laughs and helps lift her over the fence. She falls flat on her ass. So much for her agility training. It’s not until Clarice has dusted herself off and stood up that both of them realize the fence could have easily been electrified. 

 

 

Clarice knows better than to walk straight up to her target. She plants herself in the middle of the field, stock still, a trick her father taught in her childhood. Within thirty seconds the herd begins to circle, moving incrementally closer the longer she waits. When they’re in touching distance she sticks out a hand and the most inquisitive of the bunch sniffs curiously at it, ears twitching comically. This cow gives her arm a cursory lick and then the floodgates are opened.

 

 

She is swamped by cows, rough tongues licking every available space of her body. Most important though is _the_ cow. Clarice scratches her behind the ears and the cow rubs up against her side almost knocking her off her balance. Clarice looks up to see if Will is taking in this miraculous moment and sees him rifling through the potato chip bags in the front seat of the bug, searching for something. He holds up her camera and takes a shot then looks back at her, unbridled love in his expression.  When Clarice returns to the other side of the fence a line of cows trails behind.

 

 

“My wife Clarice. The cow whisperer. Now _that’s_ a sentence I never thought I’d say.” Will picks her up and swings her around, grinning widely.

 

 

Barely five minutes of driving later Clarice realizes she stepped in manure. She’s wearing the handcrafted Tamara Mellon boots that Hannibal had ordered her from Italy. Six hundred dollars a pop and now completely unsalvageable. There’s cow shit ground into every conceivable nook and cranny. She ends up tossing it out the window. Will is sworn to secrecy.

 

 

The next stop is a run down shopping center in Lansing. Clarice hops out of the car and makes her way inside, with only one shoe. She  buys a pair of neon pink flip flops in Payless and a graphic T-shirt that says  Heat Wave in Old Navy, just for the hell of it.  They happen upon Dynamic Ceramics while searching for the food court. 

 

 

The elderly lady sitting behind the counter inside waves hello so energetically that they know there’s no way they can leave without purchasing something. She does her best to coach them through  a joint  painting of a teacup. The results are...mediocre to put it kindly.  Even after Hannibal’s many attempts neither Will or Clarice have developed artistic talent or vision. The teacup is ugly as sin, they love it instantly. The old woman helps them pick out the perfect gift wrap, chattering on about her grandson’s upcoming wedding as she does.  

 

 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Will asks her  swinging the gift bag as they walk past an overeager vendor offering lotion samples.

 

 

“Oh please! You know how he is Will. Hopeless romantic. He loves any gift  you give him!”

 

 

When they finally find  the food court Clarice’s internal battle between Philly Cheesesteaks and mall court Chinese begins. Clarice has a unhealthy relationship with mall court Chinese food. There’s just something about it that just keeps her coming back. Of course she  knows _rationally_ , the reheated orange chicken will be just as unsatisfying as it was last time. She orders it anyways.

 

 

They sit in a corner booth and make up interesting stories about the people that pass by as they eat. After they’re done Will gets a  box for the leftovers. They window shop for hours walking hand in hand, looking like every other young couple in America. 

 

 

While Will goes to get some ice Clarice searches the mini fridge for some alcohol. They only checked in ten minutes ago and she can already feel the the sweat starting to drip between her shoulder blades. The wallpaper is crumbling. The TV looks straight out of the 80’s. Even the air feels heavy. Their motel room has no AC. It’s nothing less than they expected for fifty bucks a night right off of the interstate. If she listens she can still hear the roar of the cars passing by and the couple having a screaming match in the next room. The walls are paper thin. 

 

 

Clarice is watching an informercial for a new type of toaster when Will gets back. She’s stretched out on the bed in her bra and blue jeans using the T-shirt she bought at the mall as a mop for her forehead. He grabs her camera from the dresser and captures the moment.

 

 

“Heat wave indeed.” Will laughs as he flops down next to her. Clarice rolls on top of him as they watch TV, absentmindedly running her fingers through his curls. “What do you think we’d be?” He wonders. “If we’d met each other, instead of Hannibal.” 

 

 

“I don’t think we’d be living the American dream if that’s what you’re asking.”  Clarice snorts.  

 

 

“Yeah. Me neither.” He traces a line over her lips with his thumb. “I’d still have my nightmares.” 

 

 

“And I’d still have my lambs.” She leans in to brush their lips together.

 

 

“Well what if you’d met _just_ Hannibal?” He pulls away. 

 

 

“Without you demanding limits on victims? Without someone there to give me a break from high society when I need one? My life would be a very different picture Will.” She sighs. “I don’t think I’d want it that way.” 

 

 

“We’ve all changed each other. Blended somehow. It’s a balance of influences. Our lives are perfect just the way they are.” He agrees. 

 

 

“Even though it includes wine with insufferable upper crusts?” She jokes. 

 

 

“Let’s be self aware for a second angel. We’re married to one of the centuries most prolific serial killers. Any reasonable person would argue  that whether he’s secretly buying us tickets for luxury wine tours should be the least of our worries.” 

 

 

“Fair point.” She smiles snuggling deeper into his chest.

 

 

“Jesus Harold _Christ_ it’s hot!” She complains, sometime later. Will checks his wristwatch 12:57 glows dimly on the face. 

 

 

His face lights up. “Wanna go swimming?” 

 

 

One of the best things about her lifestyle is that Clarice no longer feel unsafe in what are objectively sketchy situations. Swimming in her bra and underwear in a lukewarm motel pool at one AM is far from the strangest thing she’s done lately. When they arrive the pool it is unsurprising empty. Will and Clarice drop the bath towels they brought from the room on a longue chair and dive on in.

 

 

They entertain themselves racing from one end to the other and seeing how long each can hold their breath. It doesn’t really matter what they’re doing. Clarice is just glad they’re out of the heat. She takes another Polaroid, of Will floating on his back in the water. It’s been about twenty minutes when another couple appears.  A gangly man in a baseball cap being dragged behind his giggling companion, a pink and purple haired woman in a camo print bikini. 

 

 

“What’s up!” She shouts at them from across the pool. 

 

 

“ _Honey_!” The man buries his face in his hands, clearly mortified. “People are sleeping!”

 

 

Will doesn’t react but Clarice waves back and swims over to where the other woman is dipping her toe into the pool.

 

 

“Is it cold?” She asks.

 

 

“Naw.” Clarice answers in the Northen accent she defaults to around strangers. “I think it’s heated actually.”

 

 

“Fuck!” She stomps her foot on the pool deck. “Air conditioners out of order in our room. This was our best idea for beating the heat.” 

 

 

“It’s definitely still an improvement.” Clarice assures her. “Ours is busted too.” The woman slides in and sinks to the bottom. When she comes up for air she’s grinning. 

 

 

“I’m Cecil.” She points to the man, who’s set himself up on a longuer. “The killjoy over there is my boyfriend Dennis.” She mock whispers.

 

 

“I can hear you Cecil!” Dennis calls. 

 

 

“Jennifer. My husband Nick is over in the deepend.” 

 

 

“Where are you two headed?” Cecil asks as they swim to the steps. 

 

 

“Nowhere in particular. How about you?” 

 

 

“Dennis is coming up from Alabama to meet my parents.” She answers. “He didn’t feel like driving all the way through so we stopped here for a little R&R.” 

 

 

“Sounds fun.” Clarice says distractedly, adjusting a bra strap that keeps slipping down her shoulder.

 

 

“Are you swimming in your skivvies?” Cecil laughs. “I like your style Jen!” Will swims up beside them and settles next to Clarice. 

 

 

“Nick. This is Cecil.” She introduces them. 

 

 

“Wait! Do I know y’all from somewhere?” Cecil knits her brow and looks between them. Will shoots Clarice a concerned look. Things could go south real quick.

 

 

“I don’t think so. I definitely would have remembered your hair!” Clarice jokes. How did you do that by the way?” She tries to change the subject. 

 

 

“I got it!” Cecil’s face lights up and she bounces excitedly. 

 

 

“Y’all look a like those FBI people gone rogue! The ones who ran into the sunset with Hannibal the Cannibal? You familiar with the case?” 

 

 

“No sorry.” Will pulls at Clarice’s wrist. “We’ve got pizza rolls thawing out in the hotel room so we should probably get back soon Jennifer.....” 

 

 

“I love pizza rolls!” Cecil replies, then presses forward undeterred. “This will just take a minute! I’ll give you the rundown.” 

 

 

“Cecil....please don’t.” Dennis begs. 

 

 

“Ok so like this guy Will’s a really good profiler right? Like _scary_ good. And he meets Hannibal who’s helping the FBI with some freaky ass cases and hosting these great dinner parties. But then Will starts getting suspicious and one confinement in a mental hospital plus several attempted murders later he manages to convince everyone that Hannibal’s the killer they’re looking for! During those dinner parties they’ve actually been eating his victims disguised as gourmet  desserts and all this other fancy shit. It’s gross! But also kind of a power move if you think about it.” 

 

 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry.” Dennis groans. “She’s really into true crime....”

 

 

”So _anyways_ Will ends up putting him away and things are all good. Except the FBI needs them to team up to catch another murderer. I know what you’re thinking. How many murderers can there be at one time in the Cheseapeake Bay Area? I don’t know. Shits crazy man. Point is they end up killing the guy and going over this cliff together.  The bodies are never found but they’re dead right?

 

 

“Right...?” Clarice answers hesitantly.

 

 

“Then a year later our guys pop up on CCTV in Havana Cuba fucking cuddling up outside of a five star restaurant! Definitely _not_ dead. Bastards freaking eloped! They start going on these vigilante killing sprees which everyone back at the BAU thinks is weird as hell because this Hannibal guy used to go after people for real petty shit. Probably stuff like someone cuts him in line at the grocery store. Bam! They’re dead.” 

 

 

Clarice can’t hold back a laugh at that. While grotesquely oversimplified, Cecil is actually pretty on point for pre-Will Hannibal’s response to rude people. 

 

 

“FBI keeps this all real quiet until a few years later this hard ass trainee connects the dot and ties the murders back to Hannibal and Will. Clarice Starling is _super_ smart and they put together this task force for her to go hunt them down. And while she’s doing that they’re feeding her wacky clues on _another_ killer. Who she actually ends up catching! She becomes an agent! This chick is well on her way to becoming a super star when she catches up with them in Paris. They agree to a meeting andddddd she drops off the face of the Earth.” 

 

 

“Cecil come on. That’s _enough_.” Dennis pleads. 

 

 

“I’m almost done!” She whines. “So the FBI is like oh shit she’s dead. They feel awful because you know they sent her in. Except she isn’t dead! Because six months later there’s footage of them all in Amsterdam tying the knot! Girl went off the deep end  and married them! No one really knows why but I can certainly  _guess_.” Cecil wriggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Will is like...kind of super hot?” 

 

 

“Now you’ve gone to far!” Her boyfriend  hisses. “Not everyone we meet is chill with you discussing how attractive a serial killer is. Hell! I’m not chill with you discussing which serial killers are attractive!”

 

 

“It’s been years and as far as everyone knows they’re all still out there living their best lives. Probably kicking it in the carribean.” Cecil ignores Dennis. “Point being y’all are dead ringers. Should totally audition for that movie Freddy Lounds is making.”

 

 

Clarice looks at her face to see if Cecil’s insinuating any deeper meaning. But she seems genuine. The trio doesn’t  have to hide away in dark tunnels or use extensive disguises when moving around the world. Clarice has learned that people tend to assume nothing out of the ordinary  could ever happen to them and are much more likely to look the other way then actually wonder if the couple at the motel pool are on the FBI’s most wanted list. Still. It’s better to move on before Dennis or Cecil have a chance   to actually  become suspicious.

 

 

”It was nice to meet you Cecil.” Clarice smiles politely. “Interesting story I guess?” Will nods his agreement. 

 

 

“Dammit! I didn’t mean to scare you off. Swear to god I’m not an axe murderess.” Cecil frowns.

 

 

“No worries.” Clarice assures her. “We’ve just got to get the pizza rolls.” 

 

 

“Oh right! We’re probably not going to catch much shuteye. Dennis and I are in room 203. Come up and join us if you want to share. Your pizza rolls! Not your husband.” She adds, as if that needed clarification. Clarice laughs and promises to try.

 

 

They really do have pizza rolls back at the room. The soggy package is still sitting in the bag from Walmart. Clarice microwaves them while Will uses the hair dryer to dry off their undergarments. Then she slips on her sweaty T-shirt and crawls under the scratchy comforter with a plate full. 

 

 

“That was surreal.” Will joins her in bed. 

 

 

“Oh god I _know_! I don’t think I’ve ever heard our love story explained so perfectly.” She jokes. 

 

 

“Also? Freddy’s making a movie?” 

 

 

“First I’ve heard of it. Probably made for TV. I don’t think any self respecting studio would give _her_ the budget fit for a theatrical release. Sure going to be fun for movie night if it is true.” They both laugh and grab a pizza roll. 

 

 

Its two AM by the time Will untangles their sweaty limbs to turn off the light. When he lays back down next to her Clarice tries to close her eyes and drift off, but sleep doesn’t come. She’d like to be able to say it’s entirely due to the air. But it’s how quiet it is, without the familiar comfort of Hannibal’s breathing. Soon she realizes she’s also missing Will’s snores.

 

 

“Can’t sleep darling?” She whispers into the darkness. She pauses. “Will?” 

 

 

“Yeah?” He mumbles.

 

 

”I’m ready to go home.”

 

 

“Me too.” He sounds relieved.

 

 

Ten minutes later she’s standing outside of room 203 with a cling wrapped plate of leftover pizza rolls. Will is starting the car downstairs. Clarice sets the plate on the welcome mat and folds the notecard on top of it. On the hotel stationary she’s written a message.

 

_Dear Cecil,_

_you’re really good at guessing._

_-Clarice Starling_

_P.S Will and I bought these at Walmart. They’re completely normal. Stay safe._

 

 

Clarice drives on the way back. They drive straight through the night only stopping to go through an Arby’s drivethrough at six AM so Will can get his onion ring fix. The house is quiet when they creep inside. It’s almost eight. She’s exhausted. Will’s border collie is asleep by the door. Hannibal is not. She slides the styrofoam box of Chinese food into the fridge, next to Hannibal’s neatly labeled leftovers. They leave the Polaroids spread out on the kitchen table. Hannibal will find them later and put them in one of the many scrapbooks that document their lives. They find him in still in bed his arms wrapped tightly around two pillows.

 

 

”That is really sweet.” Clarice whispers to Will. “We definitely need to tease him about it.” 

 

 

They strip and replace the pillows with their own weight. Clarice buries her head in Hannibal’s shoulder and takes in the scent of his expensive vetiver aftershave. Sleep takes her. She wakes to light peeking through the blinds and  Hannibal stroking her hair, eyes filled with unguarded endearment. He stops when he notices her watching.

 

 

“Good morning.” She says lazily. 

 

 

“It’s two in the afternoon Clarice.”

 

 

“Good afternoon then.” Will mutters from his other side. 

 

 

“You two smell like chlorine greasy fast food and _cows_.” Hannibal wrinkles his nose. “I should kick you out of bed until after you’ve showered.”

 

 

”But you won’t.” Clarice smiles. 

 

 

“No. I won’t.” He agrees sitting up and climbing over the side of the bed. She misses his warmth immediately. Hannibal returns with paper and a charcoal pencil. He sketches them as they lay naked in the soft lamplight.

 

 

Clarice leaves them only once, to warm up her  leftovers. She brings them back to bed on one of Hannibal’s fine china serving plate and watches him fondly as he looks on dissaprovingly while she eats the last of her chowmein. Afterwards they all shower together, huddled close under the warm water. She smells like white roses. Hannibal combs the tangles out of her hair reciting poetry as she lays across Wills lap. When they sleep that night Clarice takes the middle. Completely content. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated :))


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